


The Auction

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: D'Art is to be sold as a slave but there is no non-con in this, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, here we are. Another day and another d'Artagnan in distress story. I just love them (sighs dramatically while batting eyelashes)</p><p>Also this story needed for me to figure out money exchanges in francs so I knew what to do with the figures. It took a long time to find the right one but it is up to date with 2014 records. Though now everyone uses Euros. But this was for francs back in the 1600's, so if the figures are off slightly (I do not care but pardon for anyone who does, LOL!).</p><p>I also do not know if the cities I mentioned are really in close proximity to each other geographically speaking. For my story they are.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Auction

*On the way back from Bagnolet*

The foursome were a tad weary from their latest assignment in Bagnolet so they stopped for a light lunch in a beautiful part of the forest. 

"Ah! Smell that fresh air," Aramis lifted his handsome face up, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of mother nature.

"A naturalist," d'Artagnan mused to the others, "who would have thought." He heard Porthos's loud snort behind him and turned to whack his friend on the back.

"Ow! Watch it, lad," Porthos barked but with a smile. "You know what Aramis is like. He does this every time we get to leave Paris behind us."

"True," d'Artagnan laughed in agreement with his large friend. "There are parts of Paris I would rather avoid the stink of as well.”

As d'Artagnan went over to feed Zad a piece of his apple he caught a glint of something catching the sun's rays off in the woods. One hand automatically reached for his sword while the other took out his pistol. D'Artagnan quietly whistled, which was a signal to his friends that something was up.

Instantly the three inseparables stopped what they were doing and readied their muskets, swords and in the sharpshooter's case his harquebus.

It was then that over a dozen armed bandits swarmed around them as they came charging out of the woods.

Athos and Porthos took out two each with their muskets and fought several others off with their swords and daggers. While Aramis picked off two more of their numbers. Which still left a goodly amount to deal with. Their youngest was engaged with two bandits but they had taught him well and d'Artagnan seemed to hold his own for the time being.

As d'Artagnan put down the two men he had been fighting, he could see that his friends were victorious as well. But the sudden quiet of the woods d'Artagnan didn't sit well with him knowing that the other bandits had disappeared. Not remembering which way the bandits ran, it was then he heard the cocking of multiple guns. 

Turning around d'Artagnan saw that they were surrounded by the remaining rogues who must have rushed off to hide out in the other part of the woods while d’Artagnan and his friends fought their comrades off. These bandits didn’t even make an attempt to aid their own men. All they did was wait for the right opportunity to strike out again.

Still it did not unnerve the Musketeers as they fought on cutting their adversaries down to size. But it did appear that as soon as one bandit dropped, another was there to take his place. All of the Musketeers were rapidly tiring.

D'Artagnan glanced over and wished he could go help his friends but he had a tough enough time with the ones he currently fought with. What he thought was strange to him was the fact that it seemed his attackers were doing their best not to cut him into tiny pieces. Extremely odd given the situation they were in, especially since d'Artagnan was doing his level best to kill them.

Suddenly, d’Artagnan heard a roar of outrage and pain from Porthos and when he glanced over his huge friend was on the ground holding his leg which was bleeding profusely. Then Aramis went next as he dropped like a stone from what appeared to be a wound to his side as far as d’Artagnan could tell.

Trying not to lose focus for fear of being cut down himself, d’Artagnan managed to carry on. But then he heard Athos’s agonized voice and when he turned his head it was to see his mentor on the ground covered in blood. There was so much blood d’Artagnan thought, too much in his estimation. It covered the entire ground near where Athos laid. “NON!” he cried out as he fiercely fought his own attackers.

So focused was he on his own battle that d’Artagnan didn’t see someone else crawling out of the woods in back of him. It wasn’t until a pair of very strong arms literally lifted him off his feet and simultaneously knocked his rapier from his grasp that he knew he had lost the battle.

“About time,” Maurice griped, wiping the sweat out of his eyes. “This one’s right feisty.”

“Yeah,” Leon agreed. “Trying not to mar his pretty face was becoming tiresome.

Worry over his friend’s fate was uppermost in d’Artagnan’s thoughts but his mind did register two words the one bandit spoke - *pretty face*. A chill ran up and down his spine hoping that remark didn’t mean what he thought it meant. Because he was getting really tired of being targeted for his looks alone.

The more he struggled against the hold, the tighter the bandit gripped him. D’Artagnan was being dragged away as he kicked and shouted. “Arrestats!” Then forgetting himself he easily slipped into Gascon. “Dashe me!”

“What he say?” Maurice glanced over at Leon’s puzzled face.

“I don’t rightly know and could care less let’s just get him back to the Ange Dechu,” Leon grunted in pain where the boy had managed to strike a blow at his ribs.

Meanwhile the three inseparables, suffering from their own injuries, were in shock at what was playing out in front of them. Their youngest was fighting for all he was worth but still was being taken away from them. Aramis, who had briefly passed out, couldn’t seem to get his legs to work properly no matter how hard he tried. Porthos and Athos were in no better shape either as they all cried out – “D’Artagnan!”

++++

*The Ange Dechu, Romainville*

“Where is he?” Laurent Dupre’, the owner of the Ange Dechu bordello was known for his liquid fire temper and anyone who crossed him wounded up very dead, very quickly.

“Upstairs causing a ruckus the likes you haven’t seen,” Maurice touched his bruised eye, courtesy of the youngster. By morning he’d have a nice shiner there which did not please him in the slightest.

“Didn’t anyone think to administer the drug yet?” Dupre’ tried not to think of the incompetency of his people but it was hard.

“Yeah, just now,” Leon said. “Just took four of us to hold that Musketeer down to do it though.”

“His spirit will just up the price at our auction.” Dupre’ was already counting the money he would rake in on the boy.

++++

*Musketeer garrison*

Aramis had managed to patch up their wounds the best he could until they got back to the garrison. None of them were quite in the best shape to go tearing off after d’Artagnan, though they wanted to do so with every fiber of their being. He worried what the poor lad had thought when d’Artagnan saw the amount of blood that was spilled. It actually looked worse than what it was.

Still reeling over what had transpired, the inseparables were treated by the garrison physician who warned them they needed to rest. They of course ignored his advice and left the infirmary looking like what they were – the walking wounded. They weren’t about to let a little thing like their own injuries keep them from searching for their youngest. 

Earlier they had sent Rene to inform their captain what happened so that they wouldn’t waste any time in getting back on the road. But just as they were about to mount their horses they noticed Captain Treville marching their way. 

“Before you three go haring off in all directions don’t you think we should talk about strategy first?” Treville to say the least was annoyed with his three best soldiers. There were times that it felt they did it on purpose.

“Sir, we don’t have much time to waste.” Athos seethed quietly waiting for the moment they could set out.

“You don’t even know where to look or who has d’Artagnan for that matter,” Treville snapped. “Where did this happen exactly?”

“We were halfway from Bagnolet,” Prothos growled, gripping Roulette’s reigns tightly in his fist.

Something that he remembered niggled at the back of his mind. It had something to do with that area. Treville had heard whispers about a place near that location; it was talked about in certain quarters and was only known to a select clientele. Closing his eyes he concentrated until it came to him for he knew it was of great import. “Mon dieu!” his eyes opened wide in dismay.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Aramis’s concerned gaze locked with his brothers.

“The town of Romainville is an hours ride from Bagnolet,” Treville looked at his men’s anxious faces, hesitating to tell them but knowing he had too.

“So, what’s that got to do with d’Artagnan?” Porthos was royally pissed that this kept happening to d'Artagnan. He was dead on serious when he told his friends before about marking up the boy's face some. Maybe it would put people off of taking the lad.

“There’s a bordello of great repute in that city. It has gained an unusual following because they say they can fulfill any wish possible be it for man or woman,” Treville’s eyes narrowed as he thought of their youngster in the hands of those sick degenerates.

“You believe that’s where they took him.” Athos’s hand went to his injured arm and side as they pained him greatly but not near enough as losing the boy did.

“I fear that it is,” Treville lowered his eyes. 

“There’s something you ain’t right tellin’ us,” Porthos’s tone was fierce, not caring that this was his beloved captain.

“It is said in certain circles that the owner likes the exotic and when he finds that quality the poor unfortunate soul ends up on this gent’s auction block.

“Mon dieu! I’ll kill him!” Athos shouted furiously. “If d’Artagnan’s harmed in any way I’ll make the person responsible wish they had never been born!”

“I have an idea,” Treville studied the faces of the three men in front of him and prayed they would go along with his scheme. “I’ll tell you later after I discuss it with King Louie first. For it will all depend on him.”

“I do not understand what the king would have to do with our getting d’Artagnan back but will not ask questions of you for now,” Athos wondered at that sly look in his captain’s eyes. He usually noted it right before they were to embark on a campaign where Treville had carefully plotted out strategy for their victory.

Aramis and Porthos both didn’t understand why Treville had to see the king but they deferred to their captain like Athos had. They were extremely worried over how their young one fared.

++++

Even though they were patched up, they all knew their wounds would greatly hamper them if they were to engage in a fight. Still the inseparables were determined come hell or high water to bring their pup safely back to the fold. They impatiently waited in front of the stables, horses at the ready to leave as soon as Captain Treville gave the order.

When the men did see their captain, he was not alone. They were completely stunned and confused as to why Comte Rochefort was with him, looking just as serious and worried as Treville.

“Gentlemen, King Louie was outraged on our behalf,” Treville announced roughly. “And even more furious over d’Artagnan’s capture.” Pointing over at Rochefort, Treville nodded for the other man to explain further.

“The king has generously given us a substantial amount of money from the royal treasury to purchase d’Artagnan back.” The comte really didn’t expect any objections to that but, considering the reputation of the inseparables, he was surprised never the less at the absolute silence which met his ears. Arching a brow he continued. “The auctions usually take place on a Saturday evening. We should be arriving right before the event begins.”

Picking up on the word - *we*, Athos asked the obvious. “Does that mean you are coming along with us?”

“Indeed it does,” Rochefort grimly smiled. “I have not ever participated in such proceedings but have had a great deal of experience at auctions,” he shrugged lightly. “Even though this one deals in human flesh. They are much the same.”

“Mon dieu!” Porthos passed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I didn’t think…”

“Nor I,” Aramis shuddered visibly over d’Artagnan’s fate while Athos looked at him in concern.

“I will be doing the bidding and if things don’t go quite as planned you three men do what you like with anyone standing in our way,” Rochefort saw the Musketeers look at him in astonishment. Chuckling, the comte shrugged. “What are you surprised at? How many times do I have to spell it out that I like the lad?” Rochefort added one more thing. “Though with the shape you’re all in it would be better to stave off trouble and just get the youngster home.”

“Just so you know,” Porthos growled, “you can’t have em’ once we get em’ back.”

Waving his hand at the huge man, Rochefort grinned. “I already know that it would be nigh on impossible to separate you four. Besides, d’Artagnan is fast becoming King Louie’s favorite and you all know how he feels about his favorites.”

“Now, gents, one other thing,” Treville glanced at his men’s haggard faces. “You’re not up to par for a serious fight, I know that, but you’ll need to understand that d’Artagnan won’t be of much use to you in that respect either.”

“Why do you say that?” Athos queried, again his concern rising up several degrees.

“D’Artagnan will most likely be drugged to the gills and shackled to boot,” Rochefort supplied. “It’s how Laurent Dupre’ works.” He glanced at the Musketeers and knew the look that covered their faces. They were out for blood and hoped to get it.  


“Let’s get this done with now,” Porthos announced urgently, fearing for their youngest all the more and hoped d’Artagnan knew they were coming to his rescue.

++++

*The Ange Dechu bordello, early afternoon day of the auction*

Looking at his men, Dupre’ was upset. Even though that boy upstairs had been fed full of drugs daily since his capture, he still managed to land some good blows to his employees. “You lot look terrible.”

“We’ll feel much better once you rid us of that brat,” Maurice remarked angrily, rubbing at his bruised jaw.

“After tonight you’ll have no worries on that score and we’ll be all the richer for it,” Dupre’ laughed but winced when he noticed Leon’s face sporting a spectacular black eye. “Perhaps you both should ice your injuries before tonight’s performance.” He strode away chuckling.

++++

*Night of the Auction*

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Laurant Dupre’ was in his element as he enjoyed the throng of people amassed in his establishment. “Usually on nights like this I give you a tantalizing sample of our local delights. But tonight I only have one and once you’ve seen him you’ll agree with me why he’s so special.”

Dupre’ knew his patrons well. They all wanted the same thing… a taste of the unusual. Nothing could be more than that than the youngster he would bring to them on the stage. By far the boy was the most beautiful specimen of manhood he had seen to date. If he did not bring in a tidy sum, Laurant would indeed be amazed.

Glancing off to his right, Dupre’ nodded to Maurice to bring the youngster on stage. “And here is our star of the evening.”

Maurice and Leon had to push a still struggling d’Artagnan onto the stage. The youngster could only manage to shuffle out as his legs were still shackled as well as his wrists. D’Artagnan staggered every now and then from the drugs in his system which may have been a blessing in disguise as he wouldn’t witness the men and women salivating over him. The one thing d’Artagnan was glad for was that his captors had given him fresh clothes to wear and he didn’t smell the stink of the old ones they had left him in for days.

At a table well back from the main area sat five men who wanted retribution for the debauchery about to be performed on stage.

The three inseparable’s set faces drew concerned as they could tell that d’Artagnan wasn’t focusing properly and was clearly drugged as Captain Treville had told them earlier. None of them could stand to see their youngest in such dire straits. They wanted nothing better than to run their swords through the men that had done this to their youngest.

Treville exchanged a surprised glance at the comte. “Well, I was expecting d’Artagnan to not have much on.”

“Wait for it,” Rochefort’s brows drew together in a frown. He knew what was going to happen, having heard it described to him many times by past patrons of this bordello.

“What the deuce do you mean by that!” Athos growled, slamming his fist down on the table.

The captain sent his lieutenant a warning glance. “We do not want to call undue attention upon ourselves just yet, Athos.”

Scowling at both his captain and the comte, Athos wanted, no he needed an answer to his question and glared at Rochefort until the man would put forth an explanation that Athos understood.

“Unfortunately for the boy, by the time Dupre’s done with him he’ll only be left in his smalls, if that,” Rochefort admitted reluctantly. Not wanting to see Athos rush up onto that stage and pull d’Artagnan off. Because if he did that then all hell would break loose.

“I can’t believe we have to sit through this!” Aramis hissed. “It’s outrageous that we have to watch this farce instead of getting d’Artagnan off that damn stage!”

“Yeah, what he said,” Porthos agreed. “I’m all for brute force right about now.”

Closing his eyes, Rochefort grimaced. This was exactly what he was worried would happen. Looking at Treville, he expected the captain to get his men in line with the program.

“Gents,” Treville held up his hand, “we proceed with the plan as is.” He was just as upset as his men after seeing the condition d’Artagnan was in, but at least the youngster was alive. Treville heard the restlessness of the audience and glanced up on the stage and could see the show was about to begin. “That’s an order.”

“We will start the bidding at eight thousand francs,” Dupre rubbed his hands together and waited for the haggling to commence, which it did in earnest.

“This is down right disgustin’,” Porthos took in the men and women devouring his young friend with a desperate kind of hunger in their eyes.

Shouts of eight thousand francs came from a degenerate looking old man sitting with at least three women companions by his side.

Then there was a shout of ten thousand francs from an older woman sitting by herself in the corner of the room.

“My, my, we can do better than that, people,” Dupre’ urged his patrons on while eying the silent boy who swayed back and forth slightly. The young man was held in the capable hands of his men so he knew his prize couldn’t escape. “How about a little incentive, eh?”

Cat calls, loud yells and obscene language followed Dupre’s suggestion.

With a nod at his men, Dupre’ watched as d’Artagnan was divested of his shirt. The clothing he had ordered to be prepared for the youngster had been specially made for tonight’s performance. The shirt literally pulled apart at the seams as Leon tugged on it leaving the boy’s chest completely exposed. Dupre’ could hear his patrons anxiously whispering to each other and he cackled with delight as more cat calls and whistles met his ears.

Running his hands over the youngster’s chest, Dupre’ looked back out at his patrons again. “Do I hear a better offer than the last one?”

Now the bidding went even higher. A couple shouted together, “Fifteen thousand francs!”

“Fifteen thousand francs is a mere pittance for this young man!” Dupre’ put on a mock pout and waited for more bids.

“When are you going to act?” Athos demanded of the comte.

“After the last person,” Rochefort snapped impatiently, not liking having to explain himself all the time. “Our amount will beat out any other offer and Dupre’ will have to accept it.”

“You hope,” Aramis shot back, still irritated with this plan. They were gambling with d’Artagnan’s life here and it didn’t sit well with him.

“Oh come on, ladies and gentlemen!” Dupre’ hollered out. “I expected better of you than this!” He walked over to d’Artagnan and tugged on the boy’s breaches next which gave away effortlessly, leaving the young man only in his smalls.

Now the bidding became frenzied as the amounts climbed higher. Twenty thousand francs from a young man barely older than d’Artagnan with a wicked glint in his eyes. Twenty five thousand francs was signaled with a raised hand from that same degenerate looking old man. Another woman hollered out thirty thousand francs and shot the old geeser an evil grin while she was at it.

When Dupre’ heard the offer go up to thirty thousand francs he was most pleased and thought he would accept the woman’s offer. “Going once, going twice... ah, you sir there in the back,” Dupre’ said as he noticed the stranger hold up his hand. “What say you, eh?”

“Forty five thousand francs,” Rochefort announced, satisfaction lacing his voice for he doubted anyone present would or could top his offer.

“Sold to the gentleman in his fancy finery!” Laurent Dupre announced to the sounds of disappointed patrons.

“Let’s go collect d’Artagnan immediately!” Treville ordered as he looked each of his men in the eye. He hoped to hell none of them decided to cause a scene later or they would have a devil of a time getting the boy home in one piece.

++++

*Back stage*

“Take those off!” Athos ordered one of the lackey’s near to d’Artagnan to remove the shackles that offended the Musketeer’s eyes. Once they were off the boy Athos heard Aramis clucking at d’Artagnan’s abused wrists and ankles which were rubbed raw from the manacles.

“As soon as we get him out of here I need to treat these.” Aramis was worried about something else though as he observed d’Artagnan’s demeanor. Their young one wasn’t responding to any of the activity going on around him. “D’Artagnan,” Aramis whispered, “are you with us, lad?”

Trying to focus on the men in front of him, d’Artagnan thought the voices were familiar, but he was too weak from the drugs and lack of decent food to think coherently. Shaking his head a few times to clear it, d’Artagnan tried to get his mouth to work and when he did he couldn’t tell them much. “I feel sick.”

“It would be a minor miracle if you weren’t, my dear boy,” Aramis smiled gently as he reached out to cup d’Artagnan’s cheek in his hand.

“Clothes, si vos plat,” d’Artagnan whispered, blushing at his state of undress in front of his captain and the others. Plus he was feeling quite chilled from the lack of garments.

Athos found a blanket from somewhere and wrapped it around the boy. Making sure it was nice and snug and wouldn’t slip off.

“Merci,” d’Artagnan looked at his mentor gratefully as Athos tugged him close until their foreheads touched.

“Keep that up and I may start to cry,” d’Artagnan admitted, feeling a bit more like himself as the drugs were trying to wear off. “Either that or collapse in a heap, embarrassing myself even further.”

“There is nothing for you to feel embarrassed about, d’Artagnan,” Athos reminded him. “None of this was of your doing.” He knuckled the boy’s chin playfully to cheer his friend up.

Rochefort approached after having successfully purchased d’Artagnan from Dupre’. “Let’s get him out of here before everyone realizes we’re not ordinary patrons.”

“So what?” Porthos scoffed. “Ya paid for the lad in good coin,” his deep voice boomed. “That rotten bastard got his filthy money!”

“True,” Rochefort couldn’t blame the Musketeer for his anger this was a nasty business all the way around. “But if Dupre’ knew we represented his Majesty what do you think would have happened, eh?”

“There wouldn’t be a price high enough to pay for our youngest,” Porthos grunted, seeing the truth of the comte’s words.

Trying to follow the conversation, d’Artagnan hated not knowing what was going on. Everyone was talking and not making much sense to him. Unconsciously he slipped into his native tongue again. “Ne compreni pas,” d’Artagnan winced as pain lanced through his head, no doubt a side effect from the drugs.

“Athos, what did he mean?” Rochefort asked curiously, not being familiar with the Gascon language.

“D’Artagnan doesn’t understand what’s going on here.” Athos’s grim features tightened as he thought of all his young friend had gone through since the ambush had taken place and he just wanted to skewer someone through with his sword or blow someone’s head off. Either one would work for him with the way he felt right at the moment.

“We have a long enough ride on the way home to explain it all to him,” Captain Treville said as they ushered the boy out of the building and into a wagon they brought from the garrison. “You three get inside with d’Artagnan,” Treville ordered. “Rochefort and I will ride out front.”

“Gives me time to check our poor boy over and put salve on those sore looking wrists and ankles,” Aramis hummed fretfully as he gently picked each one up to examine before applying the healing ointment.

“Ummm,” d’Artagnan licked his dry lips. “Water?”

Athos and Porthos both scrambled to find their water skins they had brought along with a few other supplies. 

Holding d’Artagnan’s head up slightly, Athos tipped the skin up to the youngster’s lips as d’Artagnan started to drink up. “Easy, not too fast. Just a few sips at a time or you’ll bring it right back up.”

“I wonder how much of that damn drug they gave em’,” Porthos could see the effect it was still having on d’Artagnan and it wasn’t a pretty picture.

“They had him about a week,” Aramis mused. “Probably nightly.”

“Could have been more,” Athos added snarling. “If he fought them back, like I know he would have.”

“So we have to wait it out then,” Porthos frowned. He was bitter over the whole stinking affair.

In a small voice, d’Artagnan admitted something to his three best friends. “I was scared you were all dead,” he closed his eyes as a tear slipped out. “I saw so much blood... none of you were moving... I couldn’t get to any of you to help before I was taken.” More tears ran down d’Artagnan’s young face. “Thought I’d lost my family again.”

“Non!” Aramis’s own eyes glistened brightly. “We were all wounded, oui, but are still alive and here with you, mon ami!”

“Little brother,” Porthos grinned, "you've livened our lives up from the moment you entered the garrison like a whirlwind," he winked at the youngster.

“And d’Artagnan,” Athos lifted the youngster up higher in his arms so that he took most of the boy’s weight against him, “we wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Pressing a swift kiss on top of d’Artagnan’s head Athos smiled over at the rest of his brothers. This day could have had a different outcome. One that involved tears of sorrow instead of the joyful reunion they all were relishing.

Tiredly d’Artagnan rested his head on Athos’s shoulder. Smiling at his family that surrounded him he held out his right hand, palm down. “One for all and all for one,” he announced quietly while waiting for three other hands to join his. Hands that he could always rely on in the best of times and the worst.


End file.
